


Always Eyes Watching You

by beeabeeon49



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, because why not, characters watching their show, originality is overrated anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeabeeon49/pseuds/beeabeeon49
Summary: “Well that’s mental,” Theon stated. “It’s a prank.” A pause. They stared at each other. He cleared his throat. “A prank. Who d’you think? One of Rickon’s friends?” Silence.
Or, out of either a bout of insanity or complete loss of originality, the author decides it's a good idea for the modern au characters to watch the Game of Thrones.





	1. Eyes Opening

**Author's Note:**

> Title wryly taken from George Orwell.
> 
> So I may have lost all sense of originality but at least I’m having fun in the process. Revel in the ‘Harry Potter characters read the books’ flashbacks. 
> 
> This is obviously going to be treated with humour generally (it’s a pretty unbelievable set up), but will definitely be serious at the appropriate points. All tagged canon ships have already been established, non-canon ships will be developed throughout. Characters will be added and tagged as they are introduced (not all of them, just some of my favourites – let me know suggestions, plus any other ships. Also, this is my first time writing for GOT so please point out any glaringly obvious characterisation mistakes. I’m going for ‘they’ve been through similar events to the TV show before so this is an alternate angle’ but all will be revealed. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think about this ridiculous idea – I haven’t pre-written any chapters because I don’t know how this is going to go, so this could be slow (especially as each chapter will be an episode, so they’ll be pretty huge).

“There’s a package in the hall,” Arya announced upon arrival to the living room, quickly making herself comfortable in the armchair to prevent request for further action. “Greyjoy, you are being fucking thrashed.”

Theon watched mournfully as his kart was pitched off the course for probably the fifth time, if Arya knew his Mario Kart habits. “Fucking Rainbow Road.”

“Don’t blame the road, blame your poor dexterity.”

“Well, _excuse me_ for not being up to the standard of Miss ‘I fence four times a week’. This is unfair.”

Arya snorted. “Robb doesn’t fence four times a week” – Robb nodded from Theon’s other side – “and he’s still ten times better than you.”

“But _Robb_ doesn’t have a Mario Kart impediment – ”

“ _You_ don’t have a ‘Mario Kart impediment’ – ”

“I have half a thumb missing!”

“You have a prosthetic!”

Robb, watching the exchange with deep interest, broke in. “He’s just being a sore loser – ”

“Well, it’s not my fault I was unaware I have a friend who takes advantage of my unfortunate situation _– ”_

(Arya added “You make it sound like a boner,” but was ignored.)

“You told me to play fair!” Robb sounded scandalised.

Theon _almost_ pouted. “Which is code for ‘let me do well but don’t let it show’, you moron.”

Arya watched as her brother’s expression of victory slowly morphed into the perfect image of great regret and sorrow. Theon seemed to backtrack.

“Fuck off mate, don’t look so sad, I was only joking – ”

“I don’t look sad.”

“What, that’s your happy face? Didn’t realise you were normally just _really_ ecstatic.”

“I hope none of you have been in the hallway recently.” All three jumped, turning to see Catelyn Stark’s appearance in the doorway. “Because if they had, they would clearly have seen the package in everybody’s way and chosen to ignore it – and _if_ that is the case, I hope it will have been opened and out of the way the next time I’m downstairs.” She cast a pointed glance at Arya, who shifted slightly but seemed otherwise unruffled, then left.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much trouble am I in?”

Robb reflected. “It’s literally just a package in the hallway, that’s not enough to warrant any more than a three.”

“I may have accidentally broke a vase yesterday.”

“ _Okay_ , maybe like a six if you don’t move it.”

“The bastard’s getting back soon so you’ll be fine,” Theon told her, in the process of modifying his kart in a desperate attempt to gain an advantage. “Honour will compel our favourite police officer to sort it out for his dear not-mother and all will be right. I want to be Mario this round.”

Comforted, Arya sat back. “You were Mario last round and you still failed so I don’t see much point – ”

“Jon’s got a da – ” Both heads swung towards a suddenly shrinking Robb. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything. All is fine.” It was too late. Two pairs of eyes gleefully regarded him.

Theon spoke first. “The bastard’s got a date? With who?” Arya pointed wildly at him in a bid to emphasise the question.

Robb blundered a bit, then seemingly gave up all hope of deception. “Someone he met at work, I think, she’s called Ygritte and she has red hair and I think Jon likes her quite a lot – ”

“I feel betrayed.” Arya was slowly recovering from shock. “I thought _I_ was the favourite sibling. Why am I not informed of important developments?”

Theon shushed her. “Okay, Baby Stark feels betrayed” – “I’m not a baby,” said Arya – “Tell me more about this Ygritte.”

Robb blinked at him. “Since when were you concerned about Jon’s love life?”

“Since we have located someone who can actually put up with the bastard” – both siblings went to interrupt – “who _isn’t_ bound by some sort of family obligation. Do you think they like the broodiness? Is this ‘someone he met at work’ actually a criminal?”

“I really don’t know anything –”

“Lies! You said she had red hair!”

Robb worried his lip. “So Jon may have been _slightly_ drunk last night – ”

Theon looked like all his birthdays had come at once. Arya turned to Robb. “You have subjected our brother to a month of teasing.”

“All in the name of fun,” Theon told her, leaning back. “So what are we going to do about this package?”

Robb shrugged. “I mean, Arya could just get it – ”

“When does Sansa get back from Marge’s?”

“Not for another hour.”

There was a sigh. Theon reached towards Arya with an expression of mock-compassion. “I’m afraid, young one, you _must_ be the one to take the ring to Mordor.”

Robb furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it goes – ”

“One of you do it, all you’ve done today is play Mario Kart.”

“Well, that’s _definitely_ not how it goes,” muttered Theon, getting to his feet.

The front door opened and closed. Jon’s voice echoed from the hallway. “What’s with the package?”

Theon sat back down and, true to form, Jon appeared in the doorway a few moments later holding the aforementioned box. Arya glowered at him. “ _You_ are supposed to be on a date.”

“I knew Robb would tell you everything.”

Ignoring the betrayed look being cast at him, Robb narrowed his eyebrows at his brother. “Snow. What happened to the date?”

Jon rubbed his nose and looked abashed. “She was busy today. I postponed.” The two glares intensified and he seemed to wither. “Fine. I wasn’t ready. I postponed.”

Theon snorted. Robb shoved him. Arya got to her feet and angrily poked Jon in the chest. “You fucking idiot.”

Jon seemed to flounder. “But we’re going to go out tomorrow evening?”

“You better have the best date,” Arya told him darkly, returning to her seat. “As an apology.”

“So this package.”

“Oi, we’re not letting him get off this easy? We’ve actually found someone who can stand the bastard and he _postponed_ – ”

“ _This package_ ,” Jon emphasised firmly. “Should I open it?”

After a silence, in which all three regarded him with equal amounts of suspicion and disappointment, Robb seemed to forgive him for the time being and leant forward. “Well, sure. Who’s it addressed to?”

Jon contemplated the box. “I’d tell you if there was a label.”

Robb shrugged. “Probably fell off in the hall, go and get it?”

Jon exited the room – Robb and Arya cast despairing glances at each other and Theon snorted yet again – then returned with nothing but a puzzled expression. “Not there.”

Interest finally piqued, Arya jumped up from the armchair and went to stand in front of the box. Before Jon could protest against either the possibility of opening someone else’s mail or the dangerous nature of opening a mysterious parcel, she ripped off the sellotape and opened up the flaps. “There’s a letter.”

Theon gestured at her. “Well, read it to the class.”

“ _Do you believe in parallel universes?_ – that’s part of the letter by the way I’m not asking you – _Well_ – ”

“Hang on a minute,” Theon interrupted. “The fuck kind of letter starts with that?”

Arya glared at him. “You would find out if you actually let me read.” Theon, after some thought, seemed to agree and motioned for her to continue. “ – _Well, even if you don’t, let me assure you they are perfectly real. Believe it or not, there is a parallel universe where you and everyone you know inhabit a medieval world called Westeros_ – ”

“I’ll choose not.”

“Shut up Theon – _called Westeros, and there is another parallel universe where that is a TV show_.” She paused for a moment. Sensing the others wanting to interrupt she quickly continued, a faint excited tinge to her voice. “ _I have included the six seasons of the show so far in this box for your enjoyment_.”

“Well that’s mental,” Theon stated, both Robb and Jon nodding in agreement (the latter then realising who he’d just agreed with and shaking himself out of it). “It’s a prank.” A pause. They stared at each other. He cleared his throat. “A prank. Who d’you think? One of Rickon’s friends?”

Arya delved into the package. The box containing the first season was brought out and inspected. “I mean, this does look like Dad.”

Robb sighed. “Well, we might as well give it a go.”

“Should we call Sansa?” Arya asked.

Theon raised his eyebrows. “What, for a probable prank? We can call her if it’s anything important.”

“I’m calling Sansa,” she told him, no room in her voice for debate. “We’ll start watching tomorrow.”


	2. Winter Is Coming: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back! Sorry this took me so long, I was playing around with the format to see what would work the best. 
> 
> Basically, what I deem to be the most important scenes, and my favourite scenes, will be reacted to word for word, so if you have any suggestions for later episodes please let me know :) Obviously lots of it is important in the first few episodes, hence splitting this one into two parts and it taking so long.
> 
> Also I did remember how to write about halfway through the chapter so bear with it. Feedback would be greatly appreciated :)

Ever since her late-night call with Sansa, during which she had been abruptly informed that _no_ Sansa would not be coming home early even if ‘something crazy’ really had happened because she hadn’t seen Marge for over a week and _actually_ she would be staying overnight, Arya had been planning. “You better be back by nine, young lady,” she’d said over the phone, told everyone else with a dangerous glint in her eye they’d be ready to watch by then, and informed Theon he’d being staying overnight as “you’re always at least two hours late for everything, you dick”. (“Do you want me to do my thing with Ygritte to another time?” Jon had asked with an air of desperation, to which Arya promptly responded with a brusque “fuck off”).

The sound of keys in the lock the next morning cued a powerful screech. Even Theon could hear from under the three layers of blankets that he’d pilfered from Robb’s cupboard (“I don’t think you’ve ever been so excited to see me,” Sansa remarked. “That’s not true, once you bought me pizza,” her sister replied).

Robb kicked him, already out of bed and dressed, the traitor. He had bent to the will of the tyrant. “You’d better get up soon or she’ll be in here raging.”

Peeking out from his blanket-den, Theon narrowed his eyes at his suspiciously bouncy-looking friend. “You’re actually excited for this.”

Robb kicked him again. “Maybe.”

There was silence for a few seconds as both parties stared at the other, Robb pleading one way (namely, for them to go and watch this thing he was actually a bit excited about) and Theon pleading the other (to just stay in bed, really).

It wasn’t long before he acquiesced.

“…Can I bring a blanket?”

Robb beamed. Theon shifted. “D’you – ”

“In the wardrobe,” his friend told him, climbing to his feet and deserting with “I’ll tell Arya you’re on your way so we don’t get in too much trouble”.

Because _of course_ Robb kept a collection of his friends’ clean shirts in his wardrobe, Theon thought bitterly. The door swung shut behind Robb’s retreating back. Marooned on his island of blankets, he groaned and buried his head in the sand.

* * *

 

Jon looked up from inspecting the DVD case. “Arya, this is an _eighteen_.”

She sighed and flopped onto the floor next to him, poking him with her toe. “Mate, I’m _seventeen_. I was watching Reservoir Dogs when you were still a small grumpy child.”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Yes, I know you’re still a small grumpy child,” Arya conceded, patting his cheek. “But this was when you were a smaller grumpier child.” She grumpily surveyed the lack of her siblings in the living room. Jon snorted.

“Do we want snacks?” Sansa called from the kitchen, already having been briefed on what the ‘haps’ were by Robb (he was a few years behind in ‘today’s youth culture’).

Jon continued to frown. “Snacks?”

“Did the bastard say we’re having snacks?” Theon sauntered in, ignoring Jon’s reply that no, snacks had not been promised. “Always fancied a vol-au-vent.”

Jon made some joke under his breath about Theon fancying something else (he couldn’t quite hear it), while Arya glared. “Yeah, let’s just spend three hours making vol-au-vents before watching this show that’s _basically got us as characters in it_.”

He smirked at her. “Sounds great. Come on, you don’t actually think this is for real?”

She growled.

Apparently sensing imminent danger, Robb stuck his head out the kitchen door. “We have Wotsits in the cupboard? Or some slightly stale popcorn?”

“Fine. Hurry up,” Arya assented, not without a little petulance.

After a brief kerfuffle in the kitchen, during which some pretty unappetizing bowls of dry snacks had been prepared, scorned, and binned, the group was amassed and ready. Arya located the remote (Theon had hidden it) and the DVD (it was still in Jon’s tight grasp). Finally, they began to watch.

The first scene opened with three men riding through a tunnel. Theon cleared his throat. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but those clearly aren’t us. That front one looks a bit like a dick. Can I go back to bed now?” Robb kicked him.

He glared in annoyance, only mildly distracted by a faint “oh, fuck” from the other side of the room.

“You okay there, Snow?”

“You’re missing it, Greyjoy. Look at the screen.” Jon had seen the Wall.

Robb blinked at it. “What do you suppose that is?”

Theon shrugged. “CGI?”

Arya sighed in exasperation. “Just give it ten minutes.” Robb sent him an imploring look. He settled down.

The men continued to ride into the woods. One split off from the others, and rode in silence for a bit.

“Okay, this is the beginning to, like, every horror film. Something going to grab him. He’s going to die,” Theon predicted.

For his part, Robb predicted his friend’s imminent doom at the hands of one Arya Stark if he didn’t shut up. He whispered so. Theon scoffed.

The man continued to ride. Arya fidgeted. There was a sound: low, haunting.

“What was that?” whispered Sansa lowly, getting more into it.

The man seemed to notice something, and climbed off his horse; there were some exclamations over his stupidity.

“Just get out of there, mate,” Jon advised him, while Theon snorted, Robb kind of groaned a bit, Arya flailed, and Sansa rolled her eyes.

The man began to crawl forward (“Well, at least that’s good technique,” Jon conceded), before finding a campsite full of mutilated bodies.

“Oh shit,” muttered Theon.

“This got dark very quickly,” Robb agreed.

Arya clapped her hands in glee; Sansa looked at her in concern.

A sudden shot of a head on a spike prompted another “oh shit” from Theon. Arya giggled.

“If this _has_ got us in it, how the fuck do we even fit in?” Jon wondered, then quickly recoiled. “ _That_ is body that’s been cut in half.”

Indeed it was; the man swiftly got up and turned, but came face to face with a dead child hanging from a tree branch. Sansa let out a slight yelp.

“Are you sure we should keep watching this?” she asked her sister quietly. “We’re clearly not in it.” Arya gave her a despairing look.

“Ten minutes.”

“Well, probably about eight minutes now,” Theon cheerily told her. “Not that I’m counting.”

Jon winced at his cheeriness. “Can we address the child hanging from a tree?”

“Calm down, it’s just a show. Look, it’s gone now – the man’s running away. What a wimp.” A birds-eye view showed the bodies arranged in a shield-like pattern. “Well, that’s a bit fucked up.”

Robb nudged him.

There was a cut, and one of the men began to speak. _“What d’you expect? They’re savages.”_

“Ooh, they’re talking!” Theon rubbed his hands together. “It’s the dick from earlier! Is this where we come in? Are we the savages? I’ve always had a knack for dead body arrangement, myself.”

He was hushed.

_“One lot steals a goat from another lot and before you know it, they’re ripping each other to pieces.”_

The other man spoke. _“I’ve never seen wildlings do a thing like this – ”_

Jon noticeably straightened. All eyes trained on him. Robb raised his eyebrows. “Jon?”

He swallowed. “So, wildlings are kind of a thing – ”

Arya bounced. “A thing?”

“Yes – ”

“Like – a _police_ thing?”

“Well, kind of – ”

“Fuck, see, it’s real!”

“Not necessarily,” Sansa contributed (sensibly, she thought), not wanting to get her sister’s hopes up. Meanwhile, an expression of worry slowly emerged onto Jon’s face.

“Look, the wildling thing, it’s a bit confidential so – ”

“Your secret’s safe with me!” Arya crowed.

_“I’ve never seen a thing like this, not ever in my life.”_

“He needs to watch more horror films then,” Theon countered. “Stop fucking _kicking_ me.” Robb withdrew his foot, grinning.

_“How close did you get?_

_“Close as any man would.”_

The final man spoke. _“We should head back to the Wall.”_

Arya was interested. “So that’s that big thing was? A wall?”

“Not any old wall. The man called it _the_ Wall,” Jon corrected her. “Must be important.”

“ _Do the dead frighten you?”_

Robb nudged Theon. “Hey, you were right, he _is_ a dick!”

Theon shrugged. “If someone looks like a dick, they probably are.” Out of the corner of his eye saw Sansa shift, almost imperceptibly. He straightened. “But, what can I say? I’m _excellent_ at locating dicks.” He waggled his eyebrows and the room dissolved into laughter. Sansa shot him a grateful look.

_“Our orders were to track the wildlings.”_

“Like Jon!” Arya declared, grinning at her brother.

Jon frowned. “I never said I was tracking them.”

“But you are, though.”

He frowned deeper.

“There’s a police thing with wildlings and its confidential. You’re obviously tracking them.” Jon attempted to protest and she sniggered. “You’re a terrible liar.”

_“We tracked them. They won’t trouble us no more.”_

‘The dick’ continued his general dickishness. _“You don’t think he’ll ask us how they died? Get back on your horse.”_

Theon professed a desire to punch him. The characters onscreen appeared to agree, the man who had seen the bodies walking forwards to protest.

_“Whatever did it to them could do it to us. They even killed the children.”_

He wasn’t listened to. _“It’s a good thing we’re not children.”_

“Talk about missing the point,” Arya muttered. “He’s going to get them all killed.”

_“You want to run away south, run away.”_

They filed away the new information, Arya raising her eyebrows in a ‘I told you so’ kind of fashion.

“Well, they’re in the north?” Jon tried, not completely convinced.

Theon scoffed. “What, you live in the north, and so do these characters, so it’s real? You’re trying to find connections.”

Jon ground his teeth. “I’m just trying to consider both sides.” He pointedly went back to watching.

_“Of course, they will behead you as a deserter. If I don’t catch you first.”_

Robb bravely tried to lower the general tension in the room with “this guy just needs to chill”.

“Who’s beheading them?” Sansa asked at the same time. Arya blinked at her.

“I think the better question is, why are they beheading them?”

“And what are they deserting, to warrant the beheading?” added Jon.

“It’s almost like this line was put in to create confusion,” Theon deadpanned, rolling his eyes. Glancing at Arya’s twitching, Robb seriously began to doubt his safety.

_“Get back on your horse. I won’t say it again.”_

“Don’t do it,” Jon advised the screen, to general amusement. Despite his warning, and their own very apparent misgivings, the two men obeyed and returned to the scene. The room did a mixture of steeling itself for the gruesome sight, and being interested in revisiting the campsite with new knowledge gained.

But there was nothing; the campsite was clear.

“ – the fuck?” asked Theon.

“Did they go back to the wrong place?” Sansa suggested dubiously, although she could quite clearly see that they had not.

Jon put forward that maybe someone had moved them, perhaps the ones who had killed them in the first place.

“That’s where we come in,” Theon said, mockingly. “We stole the bodies. We’re body snatchers. Arya uses them as target practice. Sansa paints their nails. Snow uses their hair to make wigs – ”

Cushions were launched in his general direction; Sansa’s got him on the nose. He pouted.

_“Your dead men seem to have moved camp.”_

“He’s not going to believe them and they’re going to be in danger, aren’t they?” Sansa groaned, reaching to grab her cushion back from Theon and bringing it to her chest. “They _were_ there.”

_“They were here.”_

She pointed at the screen. “See!”

The other man, the one who they’d assumed was sensible, made a decidedly not sensible decision. _“See where they went.”_

“Oh, don’t fucking do it,” Robb muttered. His warning was, unfortunately, unheeded.

The three looked around, swords drawn. The silence seemed to last an age, causing them to shift anxiously, until one of the men found a red cloth in the snow. To their great discomfort, ‘the dick’ asked the question on all of their minds: _“What is it?”_

The other man seemed reluctant to answer. _“It’s…”_ He was interrupted. Rising behind his companion was a creature with glowing blue eyes.

Rendered speechless, the room watched with bated breath as he turned. The creature struck. The room was shocked into speech as the scene changed, the other man hearing a cry.

Arya said “Good riddance?”, but it was more a question than anything. Jon shook his head at her.

“He was a dick, but not a hope-you-die dick.”

“Morals can wait.” Theon gestured towards the screen. “Sort out your priorities.”

Arya narrowed her eyes at him. “What, you’re interested now?”

“You didn’t say there were _zombies_.”

She snorted and looked back at the screen, then stilled. A motionless figure was standing in the distance. Slowly, it turned.

Jon sucked in a breath. “Gods.” It was the child who had been suspended in the tree, now with glowing blue eyes.

The man turned and fled. Robb nodded. “Good man.”

“So, are they zombies?” asked Sansa, observing the two running men. “I wouldn’t have thought we would be in a fantasy show. I thought it would be more… realistic.”

“What, a show with us in it, as in us as actual characters, would be realistic?” Theon pointed out as both men came to a standstill. He glared at them. “What’d they stop running for?”

“They’re out of breath, Greyjoy,” Jon replied drily. “They’re terrified, not superhuman.”

A creature grabbed one of the men. Silence reigned, both onscreen and off, as his head was sliced off. A general shudder permeated the room as the last remaining men sunk to his knees and his friend’s head was tossed to him. The screen faded to black.

Arya reached out to pause the show as what she assumed were the opening credits began to play. “Reflections?”

“It’s not got us in it,” Theon was quick to point out, not at all fazed when she turned to glare at him.

“You’re beginning to sound like a broken record.”

Robb intervened. “Wait for three more minutes? Then your obligation to watch ends.” Theon sighed and agreed.

Arya counted off on her fingers. “So we have a big wall, – “ _the_ Wall,” muttered Jon – some sort of wildling police force, and murderous ice zombies. What’s not to love?”

“All of it?” suggested Sansa. “Look, it’s not really my cup of tea –”

“But if we’re in it?” Arya wheedled.

Sansa was fairly certain they weren’t, and her face showed it, but she sighed anyway. “ _If_ we’re in it, I guess I’ll just have to live with it.” She was beamed at. “But don’t get your hopes up.” The beam lessened.

Jon sat up. “Well, I’m interested. It’s definitely my cup of tea.” They had to laugh at the accuracy of that. Cold, barren wasteland? Check. Police force against evil? Check. It was almost like it had been written specifically for him.

“And I’m interested too,” Robb seconded. Theon rolled his eyes.

“Well, it appears the lord has spoken,” he joked. “Let the show continue.”

“I’ll skip the opening credits,” Arya promised, and she did.

The scene picked up again further south, if the change in weather and verdure of the grass was anything to go by. They could see horseback riders in the distance and, as the shot panned down, the remaining man from the opening sequence was revealed, understandably dazed.

“He must have walked a long way,” Robb noted.

Jon had noticed something else. “Shit, he’s a deserter now, isn’t he?” They looked at him blankly. “The dick said they’d behead him if he deserted.”

“Who’s they?” Robb asked, watching as the man was quite obviously captured.

Sansa shrugged. “Whoever they are, maybe they’ll understand, given the circumstances.”

A shot of a castle in the distance followed. Text came onscreen.

_‘Winterfell’_

They straightened. No one commented. Arya began to grin with glee as a lone horseman approached the castle.

The scene changed. She shrieked and reached for pause.

Theon choked on his own spit. Sansa just kind of sat there, mouth agape. Robb and Jon, dumbfounded, stared at the screen, then at each other, then back at the screen, because there they were, with a young Bran and a bow and arrow.

“I love it when I’m right,” stated Arya, when it seemed everyone else was incapable of speech.

“We’re _so young_ ,” was the first thing that came out of Robb’s mouth. Theon blinked rapidly.

Arya readied herself to continue. “We okay to move on?” Theon grabbed her arm.

“Fuck, no, wait a minute.”

She stared at him. “You’re not even onscreen. That will _really_ freak you out.”

He yelped. “Is no one going to address how mental this all is?”

Sansa nodded. “It kind of is.”

Arya shrugged. “Way I see it, we can either get hung up on all the details or just enjoy it. And – ” she began to smile like a maniac – “now you have to watch _all of it_!”

Theon gestured helplessly at the screen. “Well, obviously.” He desperately tried to wrench his facial muscles into a less shocked expression. “ _Even_ if I have an overwhelming urge to punch broody teenager Snow in the face.”

Jon pouted, trying to ignore that his character was, in fact, the same age he had been in his truly broody years.

On that note, Arya unpaused the show to watch Bran miss a target by about a mile. She snorted. Bran, clearly frustrated, hit his bow on the floor.

Sansa’s eyes widened by a fraction. “He’s – ”

Robb caught her eye and nodded. Her eyes widened again, this time by a significant amount. “Does that mean – ”

He nodded again, grimly. “Well, shit,” muttered Theon from beside him. They studiously went back to watching.

The Jon onscreen patted Bran’s shoulder and leant to talk to him. _“Go on.”_

Jon kind of shuddered. Theon cawed with laughter.

“It speaks!”

Jon shook his head. “It’s watching yourself, which is horrible, but so much worse.”

_“Father’s watching.”_ And, indeed, as the characters twisted around they could see Ned and Catelyn watching from above.

Sansa laughed out loud. “Oh, of course medieval clothing suits Dad. It was what he was born to wear.”

_“And your mother.”_

Jon winced. The room sat in stoic silence until the scene shifted.

“Gods, Sansa, you’re, like, twelve!”

Sansa glowered at her sister. “Thanks, Arya.”

Arya took no heed. “And is that – Oh, what was her name? Our old babysitter.”

“Septa Mordane.”

“Septa Mordane!” Arya grinned. “And, look, she’s complimenting you on your embroidery! It’s just like old times!”

“Arya, shut up.”

Robb laughed. “It _is_ like old times.”

Indeed, the Septa was in the process of complimenting young Sansa. _“Fine work, as always. Well done!”_

_“Thank you.”_

Sansa looked at Jon in camaraderie. “You’re right, it is awful.”

The Septa kept going. _“I love the detail that you’ve managed to get in this corners. … Quite beautiful … the stitching …”_

Arya’s laughter was cut short, as a very young, very frustrated version of herself glared daggers at her sister.

Theon chortled. “Wow, she’s loving that embroidery.”

She wasn’t paying attention. “My hair is _long_!”

Sansa grinned at her. “Medieval world. Who knows, it might suit you?”

“Stop trying to get me to grow out my hair.”

Outside, Bran tried to hit the target and missed again. The characters onscreen laughed, in particular an itty bitty baby Rickon who had to be cooed at, and a few in the room snorted. Ned intervened.

_“And which one of you was a marksman at ten?”_

Much to Theon’s amusement, mocking parties in the room subsided, abashed. “The power of Ned Stark.”

_“Keep practicing, Bran. Go on.”_

Jon leant into the shot, in a much too strange way for Arya to hold in her laughter. The real Jon shot her with an annoyed look. “All you’ve done is look pissy, don’t make fun of me.”

_“Don’t think too much, Bran.”_

Robb joined in with “ _relax your bow arm”_ , sending Theon into his own fit of laughter.

“Oh, he’s done something more than stand around looking vacant!”

Robb punched his arm. “At least I’m actually in it.”

Bran pulled the bow back, and an arrow hit the bullseye. The room readied itself for celebration (he’d only gone and done it!), until Bran, Jon and Robb turned in surprise. He was still holding the arrow.

It was, of course, Arya. She whooped as her character curtsied, even as the others rolled their eyes. They couldn’t contain their smiles though, as Bran took off after her with cheers from his brothers.

“Well, we all seem to be happy,” Robb noted.

“That would make a pretty boring show, though,” pointed out Theon ominously, just as who he recognised to be the Starks’ head of security approached.

_“Lord Stark. My lady.”_

Despite his tone of voice suggesting serious news, they were quickly distracted by the arrival of Theon’s character. Robb almost had a fit from laughing too hard.

“Why do you look so serious?”

Theon shrugged, secretly slightly mortified. “I don’t know, maybe it’s, you know, serious news? While you’re all just having fun down there? Evidently, I’m just a more mature character.”

“With an awful hairstyle,” Sansa pointed out helpfully.

Cassel continued to speak, effectively dulling their mood. _“A guardsman just rode in from the hills. They’ve captured a deserter from the Night’s Watch.”_

The room grimaced, along with Ned.

“Shit,” muttered Jon.

“Well, Dad won’t behead him, will he?” Arya asked. “When he finds out about the ice zombies?” No one answered her. She tried to lighten the mood. “Wait, the special wildling police force is called the Night’s Watch? Still right up Jon’s street. Moody and broody enough.” It was a weak effort faced with a weak response.

_“Get the lads to saddle their horses.”_ The onscreen Theon nodded and left.

“What an appearance,” Theon remarked drily. “Earth-shattering.”

Catelyn turned to her husband. _“Do you have to?”_

“Not when there’s ice zombies,” Arya replied. Jon grimaced at her. “Stop grimacing, mate, your face will get stuck like that.”

“Hasn’t it already?” Theon murmured to Robb, shocking out a bark of laughter. A questioning look from Jon caused him to forcefully clamp his mouth shut.

_“He swore an oath, Cat.”_

Arya’s voice took on a more desperate tone. “Not when there’s ice zombies!”

“So they behead them because there’s an oath?” Jon mused.

“ _Dad_ beheads them because there’s an oath,” Robb corrected. They winced at each other, not very happy with the thought.

_“The law is law, my lady.”_

It appeared Ned wasn’t done with being generally contentious. _“Tell Bran he’s coming too.”_

Catelyn protested, along with the majority of the room, but Ned wasn’t having any of it.

_“He won’t be a boy forever. And winter is coming.”_

“Ominous,” Robb declared as his father left. The others had to agree.

In the courtyard, Robb and Jon were in the process of gathering Bran’s many missed arrows. Catelyn turned to watch them. Her expression changed, and the mood of the room with it once they saw the object of her anger.

“So…” Jon started. He licked his lips as his counterpart unwillingly looked up to meet her eyes. “This is going to be a thing.” The room was silent. He sighed. “I’m not made of fucking glass, come on.”

To his surprise, Theon jumped into action. “No, you’re made of teenage angst and hair and Catelyn Stark’s strong dislike.”

True to form, Jon protested with a “Hey!”, but there was no real heat behind it. Robb was certain he saw a flicker of understanding pass through the two, although whether it was their mutual situation of being not-quite-Starks or their joint understanding of shit parenting in general he was not quite sure. Because yes, his mother was pretty amazing; and also quite shit, depending on the child. He reached out to touch his brother’s arm and was rewarded with a smile. Arya and Sansa gave thumbs up in support from the other side of the room, kindling a laugh.

The shifting scene brought the laugh to an abrupt halt, as the man who they now understood to be a deserter of the Night’s Watch was taken to the block. He was muttering, and they strained to hear the words he was saying.

_“White Walkers. I saw the White Walkers. White Walkers. The White Walkers, I saw them.”_

Arya blinked. “So the ice zombies are called White Walkers? It’s a better name, to be honest.” She was hushed as the man and Ned faced each other. He began to speak.

_“I know I broke my oath. And I know I’m a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them. But I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know.”_

Arya chewed her lip. “Okay, let him go back now. It’s a good enough excuse.”

Robb studied his father’s face. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“But Dad’s not going to kill him, is he?” Her voice got dangerously high. “Is he?”

There was no response. The man continued to speak.

_“If you can get word to my family, tell them I’m no coward. Tell them I’m sorry.”_

Ned nodded his assent, and Arya’s hopes soared, only to be dashed as the man was positioned on the tree limb serving as a block. The Jon onscreen stepped forward, towards Bran. Ned drew his sword from a scabbard held by Theon (this confused the real Theon somewhat, but he kept it to himself).

Then their father bowed his head over his sword and began to sentence a man to die. Arya shuddered.

_“In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name…”_

“He’s the king?” Robb questioned. He only knew Robert from the few formal functions he’d been to with his father, the long and awkward things he hated with the chafing suits and fake smiles, as well as the occasional birthday party. He’d always seemed jovial, if perpetually drunk, but going by his legendary excessive lifestyle and turbulent family life, Robb was pretty sure his namesake was not king material. Plus he was the father of Sansa’s dick ex-boyfriend, and – fuck. He froze, suddenly acutely aware that this was a _television programme._ And conflict would have to come from _somewhere_. Glancing round the room, he observed his siblings watch the beheading with mounting dismay, and decided to keep this worry to himself. At least for the mean time. At the moment, there was another pressing issue.

The room had lulled to silence. Jon watched his own whispered encouragements to Bran. Then the sword fell and the deserter’s head was separated from his body with sickening thump. Bran had not looked away; neither had they, although a slight tremor had run through Arya, and a perturbed expression now marred Sansa’s face.

They continued to watch the scene in awkward silence, all intensely aware they’d just watch a deeply loved, respected and reputable man _behead_ someone. It was all a bit of a shock.

Nevertheless, as Ned approached Bran they shook themselves, reassured by the familiar expression on his face; it was the face that meant an explanation was due (it was the face that always caused an erratic flicker of hope in Jon’s chest, ready for that explanation he craved the most; and it was always futile).

_“Do you understand why I had to kill him?”_

“No,” muttered Arya, surprisingly bitterly. Jon shot her a look as Bran guessed that _“Our way is the old way?”_.

Ned nodded. _“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”_

Still perturbed by his earlier musings, Robb attempted to crack a smile. “Sounds like Dad.” He reflected. “Also, fair. If there’s going to be beheadings, that’s the best way to do them.” He hadn’t managed to completely eradicate the nervous tremor in his voice. Theon glanced at him with some concern.

_“Is it true he saw the White Walkers?”_

“Very,” Arya mumbled, almost kicking in irritation. “And Dad didn’t fucking listen.” Sansa patted her arm placatingly, pulling back as she was shot with a murderous glare.

_“The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years.”_

Steadfastly trying not to be offended, Sansa squared her shoulders. “So, they do know about White Walkers, but they’ve been gone a long time?”

The snide voice came from beside her. “Obviously.”

As Sansa turned to protest, Arya reached for the remote. “Can we take a break? I need to piss,” she proclaimed, practically sneaking through the door.

Jon stared at the seat she’d just vacated, indecisive. Sansa raised her eyebrows at him meaningfully. He sighed and followed her.

Arya found him perched on the step opposite the bathroom. “A bathroom ambush? How dishonourable. I thought better of you, Snow.”

Jon patted the space on the step beside him. She glared. He sighed. “You wanted to watch this thing in the first place, and now you’re all pissy,” he told her bluntly.

Her mouth opened in indignation. “I am not – ”

“Ever since Dad chopped that poor sod’s head off – ”

“That was _not_ Dad!” she blazed back. He put up his hands in surrender.

“Right. That’s not _our_ Dad. That’s, like…” He floundered. “…Like, medieval Dad. And he’s different. He’ll do things, sometimes, that our Dad wouldn’t do. That you won’t like.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “I know. I’m not five.” But she’d hunched in on herself, and Jon gave her a small smile.

“Just, don’t take it too hard? Enjoy the show.” He grinned. “And the death, and the swords, and the blood. And the _beheadings_. You love that stuff.”

“Not when Dad’s doing it,” she groused, but a smile played at the corners of her lips. Hurriedly hiding it, she turned to leave. “You going to piss, or what? Or are you going to admit to waiting outside the bathroom purely to ambush me?”

Jon wasn’t going to admit to that, so waved her off with the promise to return quickly.

* * *

 He returned to the sight of her apparently trying to choke Sansa. He blinked, and realised it was probably Arya’s interpretation of a hug.

Theon cleared his throat. “You done?” Robb punched him.

Arya’s voice was slightly muffled. “We’re having a _moment_.”

“Excuse me, there is a dead stag’s head on the screen and I would like move on as soon as possible.”

“Wimp,” Sansa responded, massaging her neck as Arya pulled back.

_“What is it?”_ wondered Jon onscreen, leading to much derision.

“A stag, duh?” Theon raised his eyebrows. “Not very observant, Snow.”

Jon muttered he was sure that wasn’t what he meant.

_“Mountain lion?”_ suggested onscreen Theon. Ned didn’t agree.

_“There are no mountain lions in these woods.”_

Jon snorted. “Not so smart yourself, Greyjoy.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Stop flirting.”

They spluttered. Sansa giggled. Robb, for some reason, threw up in his mouth a little bit. He resolutely stared at the screen, where Ned had found a dead wolf with antlers through her throat and pups whimpering around her.

The Stark children had an almost instinctive reaction. Theon could only watch in bewilderment as they almost indiscriminately switched between cooing at the pups and mourning the mother. Then his character just had to go and put his foot in it.

_“It’s a freak.”_

As Ned corrected him from the television with _“it’s a direwolf”_ , four eyes turned on him accusingly. He shrunk back. “I’m only young! Have mercy!” Robb went to reply, but was interrupted by himself.

_“There are no direwolves south of the Wall.”_

Theon opened his mouth. Robb glared, cutting him off. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

Fortunately, Jon had him covered. _“Now there are five.”_

Theon almost choked laughing. No one else seemed to pay any attention, distracted by the direwolf pup being handed to Bran. Ned’s next line, however, brought them abruptly into reality.

_“Better a quick death. They won’t last without their mother.”_

There was uproar.

Sansa gaped. “Excuse you.”

Arya raised her eyes to the sky. Jon sent her an encouraging look, which was met with a derisive snort.

Theon winced as his character readily stepped forward.

_“Right. Give it here.”_

Bran cried out in protest, along with the assembled Stark children. A realisation struck Theon, and he paused the show (to much protest).

“Hey, this is a television programme.”

“Observant,” Jon noted drily, while a surge of hope coursed through Robb; had someone else noticed the glaring issue that was yet to be addressed?

Theon had, in fact, noticed another problem. “And we are characters in it.”

“It’s almost as if you’ve been here the whole time,” contributed Arya.

Theon gestured disconnectedly. “Which means…?” They shrugged. He sighed. “Character development!”

The words took a moment to sink in. An expression of clarity washed across Sansa’s face. “Oh. _Oh_!” Theon nodded at her. She smiled weakly. “Past idiots united?”

He grinned. “Past idiots united.”

“I mean, neither of you were _idiots_ ,” Arya argued. “Sansa, you were just a bit…” (Sansa raised her eyebrows) “...naive. And Theon was just a dick. More of a dick than now, I mean.”

Theon played with the tip of his thumb. The _plastic_ tip of his thumb. “And what caused that character development?” he murmured, under his breath. He shook himself. “Everyone alright to continue?”

Apparently Robb’s character was not alright for Theon to continue.

_“Put away your blade.”_

Arya raised her eyebrows. “There’s some beef here.”

Sansa shook her head. “Beef between those two? Never.”

The Theon onscreen was apparently eager to prove her wrong. _“I take orders from your father, not you.”_

Robb blinked, choosing to ignore the ‘beef’ that Arya had noticed (partly because it was a bit awkward to acknowledge, and partly because he wasn’t completely certain of what it meant). “Why are you even taking orders?”

Theon shrugged.

Much to their relief, Jon came to the rescue. _“Lord Stark?”_

Grinning, Arya poked him with her foot. “Bit formal?”

“Well, _I’m sorry_ for just being an amazing persuader.”

_“There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. They were meant to have them.”_

Sansa properly grinned at Jon in gratitude. Arya gave a thumbs up, secretly pretty chuffed. Robb patted him on the back. He honestly began to feel a little uncomfortable. “You know that isn’t really me, right?”

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Sansa said dreamily, Robb and Arya nodding in agreement.

Ned finally gave in. _“You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.”_

“Morbid,” Arya remarked, but she was beaming with excitement.

Theon looked sceptical. “You know you’re not actually getting a dog? This isn’t real?”

“Don’t ruin my dreams.”

Despite his own excitement, Bran displayed a surprising amount of compassion for a ten year old. _“What about you?”_

_“I’m not a Stark. Get on.”_

Jon valiantly attempted to keep his cheek muscle from twitching. He watched himself walk away, then pause.

_“What is it?”_ Robb wanted to know; the sight of the two cubs in his arms set them off cooing again. Theon raised his eyes to the heavens.

Sansa laughed. “The resemblance is uncanny.” She was looked at questioningly. “You know, from before? You made a joke about it? Oh, never mind.”

Onscreen, Jon had pulled up a white wolf pup. Offscreen, Jon looked ecstatic (or at least slightly less broody than usual).

“Hey, you get one too!” Arya exclaimed eagerly, pleased she wouldn’t feel guilty for having something that her brother couldn’t.

“The runt of the litter. That one’s yours, Snow.”

Theon had to give it to himself; that was pretty funny. He laughed. Jon shot him an annoyed look.

They blinked as the scene suddenly shifted to a much grander castle and a much warmer looking place. The text proudly proclaimed:

_‘King’s Landing’_

“The capital,” Sansa murmured, as they watched the ringing bells. She gasped. In the middle of what appeared to be a large throne room, a dead body lay, surrounded by druidical looking celebrants. It was clear that someone important had died. On the balcony, a very familiar man was approaching an equally familiar woman.

“Here come the Lannisters,” Robb stated, an undertone of menace in his voice. “We knew they’d get involved at some point.” The others nodded in assent.

“Conflict has to come from somewhere,” Sansa pointed out, but she didn’t seem too happy about it – especially as she knew one of them a bit _too_ well from the years she had spent dating her son.

After some back and forth about how difficult it was being Lannisters (met with general eye rolling and derision), Cersei said something odd.

_“What if Jon Arryn told someone?”_

“So that’s Jon Arryn,” Jon guessed.

“And he knew something,” added Arya, “that the Lannisters didn’t want anyone to know.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “And then he died.”

Jaime seemed unfazed. _“But who would he tell?”_

Cersei just looked at him. _“My husband.”_

The rumours, the ones that were on the front covers of all the tabloid press, jumped to the front of all of their minds; they consciously pushed it down. It was probably just some sketchy medieval thing that Jon Arryn had known.

_“If he told the king, both our heads would be skewered on the city gates by now.”_

“It must be big then, and it must involve both of them. And would particularly anger Robert,” Sansa sighed. “Come on, we’re all thinking it.”

“They’re boning.” Theon clarified helpfully.

Jon shook his head stubbornly. “We don’t know that.”

Jaime continued. _“Whatever Jon Arryn knew or didn’t know, it died with him. And Robert will choose a new Hand of the King, someone to do his job while he’s off fucking boars and hunting whores. Or is it the other way around? And life will go on.”_

This didn’t bode well with Sansa; she said as much. “They’re going to somehow rope us into this, aren’t they?” Indeed, as Catelyn approached Ned with a letter in her hands, they feared the worst. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't promise when the next chapter will be, but hopefully it won't take as long as this one to do now I have the format down!
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, please and thank you :)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback would be nice, please and thank you :)


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